Cancer warrior, be gentle with yourself!

For the past two years, people kept telling me: "Be gentle with yourself!" But, what does it mean? And, how does someone who is intrinsically motivated by self-drive, competition, and achievement unlearn a lifelong trait?

Where does my self-drive come from?

As a child, my parents and teachers urged me to perform - academically and in various extracurricular activities. I competed in multiple sport disciplines (athletics, tennis, horse riding, swimming, and ballet). I excelled in music (piano, guitar, recorder, voice, music theory), acting, modelling, and chess. 

My father instilled in me his business acumen and drive. I grew up watching him run a successful butchery. He taught me about good customer service, sales and marketing, merchandising, payrolls, and business finance. By the time I turned 16, I knew every aspect of his trade and how to run a business. 

I learned from him that providing for your family comes with immense responsibility. When he was sick, he couldn't stay at home. I remember countless times when he went to work with a kidney stone. And the one time his doctor admitted him, I worked by his hospital bedside to help him get the business ready for the changeover to VAT. I recall it very well because he missed my matric farewell dance that week in 1991.

The world needs people to lead, drive, and innovate just as much as it necessitates people who influence business decisions, keep an eye on the details, and bring stability to the workforce. I happen to be a driver, which helped me become a successful career woman even though I do not have a university degree. 

How a dread disease killed my drive.

When the oncologist diagnosed me with Stage 2 Grade 3 Pleomorphic Lobular Carcinoma (PLC) of the right breast in August 2019, I was determined to continue living a normal life. 

If you ask my husband about the first time he saw me throw a temper tantrum, he can tell the exact date and what we were doing at the time. When we walked out of the oncologist's rooms on 15 August 2019, shortly after noon, I kept repeating: "I am not sick!" Merely two months prior, after my annual check-up, the house doctor declared me healthier than 95% of other women my age. "I AM NOT SICK!!" 

Two days after the surgeon discharged me from the hospital following a double mastectomy and breast reconstruction in September 2019, I worked at an all-morning client event. While receiving chemotherapy during December 2019, I co-produced an entire opera production, attending rehearsals every Friday evening after sitting in the chemo treatment room all morning. 

But, towards the end of chemotherapy, in March 2020, I was just a fraction of the person I used to be. When I looked in the mirror, the only thing that remained unchanged was my teeth. I had no hair, my eyes were dull with black circles underneath, and my skin looked like a teenager's. I developed a double-chin, arm flaps, and a second-trimester pregnancy tummy. I had one beautifully reconstructed breast and a flat chest on the other side. My hands and feet were swollen, and spider veins developed on my face, legs and feet. And I removed most of my signature piercings because I was constantly in and out of the hospital since August 2019. 

My energy levels were non-existing. I wasn't able to manage the number of clients I used to. It took about six months after the chemotherapy ended to feel more like myself again. I secured a handful of retainers with some incredible clients amidst a total lockdown due to the COVID-19 pandemic. 

Remission triggered a severe depressive episode.

In February 2021, eighteen months after my breast cancer diagnosis, the oncologist gave me the best news ever - I am in remission! But, what should have been the start of a happy ending, turned out to be a nightmare. 

By April 2021, I could not get out of bed in the mornings. I had little interest in personal hygiene and lost my healthy appetite for sex. I had even less interest in work, even though I knew that I don't earn an income if I don't work. 

Although I am finished with the first phase of my treatment, I am still receiving several drugs for the next five to ten years to prevent a recurrence. Tamoxifen and Zoladex (used to stifle hormone production) and Menograine (to reduce menopausal symptoms) list depression as a side-effect. 

When I saw the oncologist in May 2021 for my three-monthly check-up, she referred me to a clinical psychiatrist. The psychiatrist diagnosed me with a "severe depressive episode without psychotic symptoms". 

Yesterday, I had my first session with a clinical psychologist. Towards the end of the session, she said something that hit me very hard: "You must remember that you are still extremely ill. You may be in remission, but depression is a real sickness." 

Be gentle with yourself!

I've read the words "be gentle with yourself" countless times in comments to my Facebook posts over the past two years. It is easier said than done!

Someone with life insurance gets paid a lump sum for dread disease cover. People who have full-time jobs get paid sick leave and can claim from the state's unemployment insurance fund (UIF). Most people have a life partner who is permanently employed. These things make a huge difference, and I had none of them. I feel that I have no choice but to be hard on myself and push myself beyond the limits of my broken body and mind. 

But, after the session with the psychologist yesterday, I think I begin to understand what it means to be gentle with myself. 

I am sick. Frankly, I am incredibly ill. I've been to hell and back over the past two years, and the journey changed my life. No one can say for sure whether I'll ever go back to the way it was before. The first step to recovery is to accept that. In my surgeon's favourite words: "It is what it is." 

She advised me to spend time doing the things that bring me joy. She said that I must stop doing things that are a waste of energy. Where do I spend most of my energy on any given day? Worrying about my income. Does it help to worry? No! Somehow, my husband and I managed financially over the past two years. She gave me a mantra to repeat daily: "Ons het nog altyd oorleef (We have always survived)." 

To be gentle with myself does not mean that I acknowledge weakness. Neither does it imply self-pity. It simply means that I should start showing compassion for myself. How do I do that? If I feel like watching a movie in the middle of a weekday, I must do it. When I feel like taking a nap, I must take one. When I catch myself sitting at my desk, staring at the computer screen, I must switch off the computer and go outside to play with my pets. 

She stated that I must lower the expectations I set for myself. I must realise that I cannot complete projects at the same speed as I used to. I have to relearn to set realistic deadlines based on my capability here and now, not on what it was before. 

It's a long, long road to recovery.

When I reviewed the counselling session with my husband, he said something that made me think. He said: "So, your journey to recovery can be compared to that of someone who suffered a stroke." And he is right.

I may be in remission, but my body and brain must learn to function again after several surgeries and after being flooded with toxins from chemotherapy and ongoing treatment. 

I know now that the road to recovery is a long, long one with many obstacles along the way. But I realise that I can do it because I have a wonderful and supportive husband, a family who cares, and friends who will stand by me through good times or bad, in sickness or in health.